Time Is The Key To Everything

Chapter 16: Devious Ploy

"Has he been cracking anytime soon?"

James shook his head before continuing to unravel the bandages around his ankle. Anthony watched complacently by the fireplace, trapped in the Englishman's steel silence.

"Have you been interrogating him at all in the first place?"

"Who do you think I am? A sadist?" James said, aghast. He blanched at Anthony's smirk and threw his dirtied bandages at him. "You're sick."

"You fool me well enough." Anthony sang, playing with an ornate dagger scabbard left on the fireplace mantelpiece. He ran his finger across the curling design as if following a long and dangerous pathway across the smooth metal.

"I'm not." James insisted earnestly, massaging his injured ankle. It still throbbed angrily even after it was treated. He barely suppressed a wince before starting to wrap it again with clean bandages. "And no. He hasn't spilled anything. Not that I expect him to."

"That's a surprise." Anthony commented. "Considering the horrid pain you inflicted upon him."

"It isn't horrid. You speak of it as if it were completely out of the ordinary." James said indignantly. "Any other country would do the same to their prisoners. I know that for a fact." His face darkened considerably and he hurriedly returned his attention to nursing his wound.

"Ah, but what a way it is to treat a guest!" Anthony said teasingly. "What a horrible impression you make upon them. You should treat them to soft pillows and wine instead of what you're doing now."

"I do not aim to try to seduce everyone that enters my country's borders, Anthony." James said testily. "A good lot that would do. What kind of formidable superpower would I be if I handed out sweets and alcohol?"

"All you care about is being seen as intimidating." Anthony lamented. "I would much rather be loved and appreciated than to be feared."

"And look where you are. Pummeled by your mortal enemy." James said coolly. "That may suit you fine, but I've got different plans."

"Harsh words spoken to a true friend." Anthony said dramatically, gently placing the dagger sheath back to its original place.

"…Sorry," James muttered. "Look—I didn't mean anything bad, it's just—"

"No need, no need."Anthony said lazily, waving the matter aside. "I understand your nature. It's natural for you to retort like that."

"Natural?" James asked confusedly.

"Of course." Anthony said casually. "You're the warmonger, after all." He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on James' desk. "Though you are more so in this situation. If it were anyone else besides Paul, I'm sure you would be a little more lax in your treatment."

"I suppose." James laughed. Anthony raised an eyebrow.

"Why him specifically, of all people?" Anthony inquired.

"Why not?" James retorted incredulously, as if the answer was blatantly obvious. "Everything about him! I won't bore you with the details; I know that I've done it too many times already." His face grimaced with disgust. "And he's a liar. He said Cassidy was on his side. How could she be? That is nothing like her. She never declared war on me either." He gingerly rose to his feet.

"How did that happen, anyway?" Anthony asked, nodding at James' ankle.

"Not in battle." James said shortly.

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "But that hasn't told me anything. What happened?"

"What does it matter?" James muttered. He hesitated before continuing. "You remember how there was an attack on that one military fort not too long ago?" Anthony nodded. "I was trying to drag a soldier out from under a pile of wreckage but then the enemy launched an attack that knocked even more rubble down and it buried my leg. It should be snapped in half, but somehow I just got away with a sprain."